


Painkiller

by GalekhXigisi



Series: The Unholy Holy Trinity Collection [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Miscarriage, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Trans Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:33:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21551284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: It's the fifth time and Richie remembers that it never gets easier.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Series: The Unholy Holy Trinity Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553902
Comments: 9
Kudos: 86





	Painkiller

**Author's Note:**

> Age headcanons loosely based off of the book
> 
> Medicine - Daughter

He fingers the pill out of the bottle, blank expression on his face as he stares down at it plain white pill. It didn’t look menacing, but there came a sharp ache with it, with the reminder of what the little fuck stood for. He pops two in his mouth and swallows them dry with a deep ache in his chest. Eddie would be mad that he had taken it dry, but he didn’t need to know, not with him being at work and Stan, too. He can’t help the tears that fall as he leans against the sink, fingers wrapping tight around white porcelain that looks far too similar to his freckled skin. He hates the similarities. 

It was another rough week, another week that would hinder Richie’s mental health. Then again, Richie can’t remember a week that  _ hasn’t _ been rough. It was the fifth time, the fifth time he found himself in this  _ shitty fucking position. _ The weeks were progressively getting rougher and rougher on Richie, making his grip a little tighter and mind a little foggier. 

He stands there for hours, just letting the tears collect. No sound leaves him, just the ruffle his clothes make when he changes positions, the occasional sniffle, and the constant tap of his fingers against the sink. His breathing wavers and he forces himself to move when he hears his husbands at the doors, turning on the sink and aggressively washing his face. That’s how they find him, standing at the sink with his nails digging against his skin. 

“Rich,” Stan softly says, voice gentle as Richie pulls back, turning off the water, “Hey, we brought dinner.” 

Eddie stands beside him in the doorway, holding up a bag with a smile, though it falters when he sees Richie’s expression, one that lacks the typical warmth. “Did something happen, Chee?” 

Richie just shakes his head, slow and somber as he leans up, grabbing one of the towels hung on the bar and patting his face down. He’s not ready to talk yet, not ready to volunteer the information that seemed to fuck with them more and more each time. 

Dinner was tense, even with reruns of shows that always seemed to cheer them up playing in the background. Richie couldn’t force himself to say a word, couldn’t do it  _ again. _ He didn’t want to admit the fifth failure where the only person that could be blamed was himself. He knows Eddie and Stan would say that it wasn’t his fault, that they never could have realized this would happen, but it was the  _ fifth. _ Richie thinks that maybe… Maybe he should  _ take the fucking hint. _

When the three lay in bed, Richie finally talks because Eddie says, “Oh, you changed the sheets,” his tone somewhat confused but thankful as he says it. 

Richie frowns as he sits down on the bed, slowly nodding. “Y - Yeah,” he mumbles, “That’s what you do - do when you wake up with blood on your shorts.” 

That’s all they need to hear to understand Richie’s dampened mood. Miscarriage was never kind, hitting Richie like a truck each and every time. It wasn’t ever going to get any easier. They know it’s not, not when Richie was still sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes unfocused as he stared at the wall, tears trailing down his cheeks, smile completely wiped from his features. Brown eyes sat full of emotion and unshed tears. His glasses had been discarded at one point, maybe when he changed into shorts and a big shirt that was actually Stan’s but Eddie and Richie both ended up wearing far more often than he had. None of their clothes belonged to a specific someone anymore, not when the three men were married and lived together with quick mornings and forgetful nights. 

“Maybe we should give up,” comes the defeated whisper. “W - We should have taken the hint when we were kids, right?” He turns to his lovers, a desperate look adorning broken features. “When I had the first miscarriage, maybe we should have realized to just sto - op then.” 

Stan’s hand presses to Richie’s own, touch gentle as he shakes his head. “Richie,” he says in a soft voice, “You were  _ fourteen.” _

Richie had been fourteen, had been at the wrong place at the wrong time and had come out with a miscarriage by the time he was turning fifteen. That didn’t mean it hurt any less ten years later when Richie was twenty-four and his lovers were both twenty-five, just a few months older than he was, really. That had been a significant low in his life, one so low and horrid that Richie hadn’t even associated with his twins - technically triplets - during that time, neither addressing Boris nor Mike and fighting with his parents constantly. They never even had a good relationship to begin with and it got especially rocky then, the landslide falling and shattering whatever remained when he turned fifteen and got the news that broke him in a way he would find would soon repeat again and again. 

The youngest nods as he sniffles. The bad thing was that he wasn’t even crying, not  _ really. _ It was just emotionless tears, ones that came far more often now. It wasn’t like the first time when he shattered and the Losers had to pick up the broken pieces. “You’re right,” he mutters. He knew he shouldn’t put that one against himself, but it was progressively getting harder and harder. The doctors had warned him that pregnancies would be hard if he ever decided to have children, that his uterus had been damaged and the medical bullshit that he came stocked away with would only damper that, too. Richie mutters more to himself than the two, “Shouldn’t blame myself.”

Eddie wraps his arms around Richie, grip loose and giving him more than enough room to pull away. He practically collapses against Eddie, face pressed to his shoulder as full sobs break him down. Stanley joins, his own eyes fogging. 

They had been told this was the best pregnancy to date, and yet, it had been the shortest. His longest had been twenty-six weeks before abrupt complications -  _ a blood clot that Richie had been on blood thinners to prevent - _ stopped them in their tracks. At only ten weeks, now, Richie found himself facing the same issue that never relented. He’d have to tell his friends that it wasn’t right this time, either. He’d have to tell Beverly that their pregnancies wouldn’t sync up as they had thought. He didn’t want to have that conversation, didn’t want to admit  _ anything. _

Stan cards his fingers through Richie’s hair as he whimpers against the other. “I just don’t fucking  _ understand. _ I - I did  _ everything _ I was supposed to. I took my medicine, ate what I was told, exercised as much as I could, stopped doing anything stressful. I even started eating that shitty salad that the lady at the gyno suggested.” His fingers tighten around his hair, pulling at it, nails digging into his scalp. “And I  _ still _ fuckin’ lost them!” 

“It’s not your fault, Chee,” Eddie says quietly. 

“Fuckin’ feels like it is, Eddie,” Richie retorts, though it’s not harsh, just bitterly said. 

**Author's Note:**

> You know... I'm a teenager, but... shit's still rough. It's been a while, but it never gets easier... Really forgot that. 
> 
> Here's my Discord  
> https://discord.gg/eGkwayy


End file.
